The contemplation of beauty, whether it be a uniquely tinted sunset, a radiant face, or a work of art, makes us glance back unwittingly at our personal past and juxtapose ourselves and our inner being with the utterly unattainable beauty revealed to us.

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...in my dreams the world would come alive, becoming so captivatingly majestic, free and ethereal, that afterwards it would be oppressive to breathe the dust of this painted life.

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Genius is finding the invisible link between things.

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Life is a message scribbled in the dark.

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The breaking of a wave cannot explain the whole sea.

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I think it is all a matter of love: the more you love a memory, the stronger and stranger it is.

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Let all of life be an unfettered howl.

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Literature, real literature, must not be gulped down like some potion which may be good for the heart or good for the brain—the brain, that stomach of the soul. Literature must be taken and broken to bits, pulled apart, squashed—then its lovely reek will be smelt in the hollow of the palm, it will be munched and rolled upon the tongue with relish; then, and only then, its rare flavor will be appreciated at its true worth and the broken and crushed parts will again come together in your mind and disclose the beauty of a unity to which you have contributed something of your own blood.

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Nostalgia in reverse, the longing for yet another strange land, grew especially strong in spring.

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I talk in a daze, I walk in a maze I cannot get out, said the starling

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